


Unafraid

by sahiya



Series: Bastard Weeps [2]
Category: Chalion Saga - Bujold
Genre: Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The March dy Palliar had been in residence at the Zangre for nearly a month before Betriz decided she must say something to Caz after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unafraid

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt at the [2008 Bujold Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/bujold_fic/88536.html) was for Caz/Palli, but somehow accounting for past Caz/Betriz. This is not so much _past_ Caz/Betriz as it is . . . well, an arrangement that is not unprecedented in the Chalion 'verse! Many thanks to [](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuzzyboo03**](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

The March dy Palliar had been in residence at the Zangre for nearly a month before Betriz decided she must say something to Caz after all.

She'd not intended to at first; Palli was her friend as well as Caz's, and she had no wish to hurt either of them. It was not obvious to one who did not know to look for it. Palli had wit and looks to spare, and he had attracted any number of Chalion's daughters over the five years Betriz had known him - and yet he had settled with none. She had grown first concerned, then suspicious, and finally sadly certain. As for Caz, she didn't know what he thought, if he returned Palli's affections or perhaps had at one time; she thought him far too intelligent to be ignorant of them, but then again, she remembered their own courtship and realized it was just possible.

She was faintly surprised to find she was not jealous. She thought perhaps she should be; the gods only knew she loved Caz more now even than the day they married. And yet that seemed in the end to have little to do with it. She and Caz were five years wed, and nothing would change that, but he and Palli had served Chalion together, had suffered together through a long siege and more, and nothing would change that, either.

Betriz did not mind. If that made her strange - well, there were enough uncanny rumors about her husband that people already thought her strange for having married him at all, chancellor or no.

Still, it would cause difficulties. It was only after she became certain that the men were doing more harm with their silence than she could with words that she resolved to make an end of this, one way or another.

This certainty arrived late one autumn evening, after a private dinner with her husband, the roya and royina, and Palli. She waited until she and Caz had retired to their chambers for the evening and dismissed their attendants. She seated herself before her mirror, where she could see their bedroom reflected over her shoulder. Cazaril sat on the bed to remove his tunic and boots. She released her hair from its complex arrangement, allowing it to tumble across her shoulders and back, then caught his eye in the mirror and said, "Caz, did you know Palli loves you?"

His hands stilled on the fastenings of his tunic. Something very akin to guilt flitted briefly across his face. She arched an eyebrow at him until at last he said, slowly, "I presume you don't mean as a brother, or his former commander."

She did hope he would not be deliberately obtuse about this. She turned to look at him with impatience. "It would hardly be worth mentioning if I did."

Caz let his boots fall beside the bed, one by one. He crossed the room to stand behind her; his hands went to work on her gown, loosening the laces. "I . . . I suppose he might feel something. But, Betriz, I hope you do not fear for _us_," he added hastily, his hands warm on her shoulders. "I wouldn't - nothing has ever happened between us, or - well, only once."

She covered his hand with hers. "Gotorget?"

His expression lost some of its wariness in favor of sad regret. "Father's Day night. We thought we were dead; I had one last bottle of wine. But that was all."

"Not for him," she said quietly. She turned. "Nor for you, unless I miss my guess. Don't lie to me, Cazaril," she added. "Not in this. I'm not angry. I only want to know."

He didn't answer. Not immediately. He waited until she had changed into her nightdress and they lay together under the heavy down quilt in the quiet intimacy of their bed. Father's Day was fast approaching; perhaps that was why the subtle look of loss Betriz surprised on Palli's face now and then had grown more frequent of late. Perhaps the thought of what he'd had once and never again weighed more heavily on him this time of year.

"I could have loved him," Caz said at last, once they had doused the candles. "I did love him, I think, but the Daughter had other plans for me, and She brought me to you. I've never been anything but grateful."

"I believe you," she said, hand moving gently through his hair. "But I think it is possible to love more than one person. At once, even."

He went very still. "Do you? Love more than one person, that is? Is this what - Betriz -"

She laughed gently. "No, Caz. There is nothing between the March dy Palliar and myself. But if you wish there to be something between the two of you -" she caught his face between her hands, though she could not make him out in the dark "- then I give my blessing, Caz."

He was silent. "I've never thought of it," he said at last.

"Never?"

"It was never - I swore my oath to you, and he stood beside me while I did." And what that must have cost poor Palli, Betriz could only guess. He'd been stone-sober throughout the festivities. At the time she'd thought him merely a loyal friend to Caz, who had also abstained, the better to please her on their wedding night; now she wondered if he'd not been afraid of what he might say too deep in his cups. "I never allowed myself to think - but you and I, Betriz, this is not - you're not unhappy, are you?"

"Not at all." She propped herself up on her elbow and kissed him. "Indeed, you might say that if my happiness is a cup, then it is filled to the brim and running over, and I see no reason someone else might not fill their own from it. I lose nothing, Caz."

"Do you not fear you might, in the end?" he asked, a bit breathlessly.

"No," she said simply. And she didn't. She kissed him again, then rolled to her back, pulling him with her. He went with a will, and she proceeded to show him, with lips and hands and all the rest of her, how very unafraid she was.

***

The wind was winter-bitter. Palli paced the halls of the upper floors of the Zangre and tried, and failed, not to think of another night long ago, when the wind had been just as sharp. It was pathetic, he was aware; it had been nearly eight years now, and he should have put it out of his mind long ago. And he did, as much as he could. But every fall, as the Son's days waned, he could not but think of that night with Caz in Gotorget.

He had known better than to come here this time of year. He had avoided it these last four years, ever since Caz's marriage. But this year he'd not been able to resist; he'd found himself on the road to Cardegoss despite himself, even as the other courtiers streamed away to winter at home, now that the best of the fall hunting was over. With the Zangre so empty, he often found himself keeping the company of the roya and royina, and their two most trusted servants, in private. Pleasure and torture in equal measure, he reflected, leaning upon a battlement to gaze out across the city.

He thought he should have resented Lady Betriz more than he did. But he could not fault her for loving Cazaril, nor he for loving her. It was neither of their faults, but his own, for wanting what he could not have and failing to let go what he should have years ago.

Footsteps on stone made him turn; it was, to his great surprise, Cazaril, dressed in garb considerably more drab than what he had worn to dinner that evening. Palli had thought he'd be tucked in bed with his wife, enjoying entertainments of a private sort. He raised an eyebrow at his old friend. "What brings you out this time of night?"

Caz shrugged. "Thoughts of Gotorget," he said. Palli took a half step back before he could control himself, but Caz went on as though he'd not noticed. "I often find myself thinking of it this time of year; those last days of the siege." He leaned out the window, looking down over the faintly illuminated city as Palli had only moments earlier. "I had lost all hope. I'd foresworn myself to the Son, not yet realized the Daughter had claimed me for Her own - I didn't know then what I know now, in so many ways." He turned, regarded Palli with those gray eyes that had so undone him that night and so many times since then, without Caz ever realizing. "Do you ever think of those days?"

Palli hardly dared move, but after a moment he bowed his head. "Yes. Often."

Caz stepped toward him. "Palli," he said, hand coming out to rest on the sleeve of Palli's tunic, "I should have said this long ago -" Palli shook his head, pulling away, but Cazaril only followed, his grip on the fabric tightening, then shifting to Palli's wrist. "I was unjust to you that night. I was terribly lonely, and I -"

Palli could not help it; he raised his head sharply and caught Cazaril's gaze, eyes narrowing. "Cazaril, I beg of you, do not tell me it was a mistake."

"No," Cazaril said, his face grave, "never that, but how I left - that I left at all -"

"You had your duties."

"I did," he agreed, "but to you as well. Palli, I was frightened. I fled. And for that, I'm sorry."

Palli did not relax. "There is nothing to forgive," he said, making to pull his arm away. The freezing stone wall was at his back; he had nowhere left to go. "Nothing at all, Caz, but if you wish it, I forgive you."

"Thank you," Caz said, releasing him. Palli drew a deep breath and hoped Caz didn't see how shaken he was. The two of them fell silent; Palli waited for the pounding of his heart to ease, and wondered if he dare speak as well, if this was perhaps his one and only chance to - to do what?

"After we were liberated," Palli began, "when they told us you had died . . ." He realized he could not go on. He needed wine for this conversation, he thought, just as they had needed wine before. A better vintage than the piss-thin one they'd shared that night, by preference. But sober, serious Cazaril was watching him in expectation. Palli looked away. "I wished . . ."

"Palli," Caz said, much closer now - too close, in truth. Close enough that if Palli turned his head, it would take no effort at all for their mouths to meet as they had that night. Palli imagined the rough scrape of stubble, male jawlines rubbing, and felt a bolt of heat shoot from his belly straight down.

He stumbled back. "Cazaril, what in the name of five gods are you doing?"

"Palli -" Caz began, stepping toward him with his hands held out.

But Palli shook his head, backing away with all possible haste. "Caz, you're married. To Betriz. This isn't - I don't know what sort of fey mood has come over you, but this isn't - it isn't what you want. It isn't you."

"Palli, if you ever loved me, listen to me," Caz said, a strange edge of desperation in his voice. "Betriz -"

Palli did not wish to hear. He did not wish to hear what problems plagued Caz and his wife, did not wish to hear the reasons Caz had sought him out now, after so many years. They didn't matter, not in the least. "No," he said, shaking his head. "This is madness, my Lord Chancellor. I will not be your vice." He pulled away and drew himself up. "Find your wife, old friend, and your marriage bed. I'll be gone on the morrow."

He turned his back on Cazaril and strode away.

***

It was either very fortunate or very regrettable, Cazaril reflected three days later, on the eve of the Father's Day, that a violent snowstorm had blown in the next day, piling snow up all around the Zangre and making all travel impossible for at least a week. The drifts were in danger of burying the stables, and the snow blew up, swirling in funnels past windows and causing little piles of powdery whiteness to form inside the castle. The wind wormed its way into the cracks, freezing the stone, and the snow packed the chimneys until all the hearth fires went out.

The storm made leaving impossible for Palli. It did not make it impossible for him to avoid Cazaril altogether, not to mention Betriz, who somehow knew at once what had happened. She granted Caz a single, exasperated glance. His protests that clearly she had been mistaken and Palli did not think of him that way after all were met with steely-eyed silence.

It was a shame, Caz thought, brooding over his correspondence, that Betriz had put the idea in his head. He had thought of that night over the years but never allowed himself to contemplate it at length. Now his mind worried at it like a dog with a bone, never ceasing. His love for Betriz was uncomplicated when not hindered by gods and death demons and celestial will; he loved her so easily. Palli was something else altogether. His love for Palli had been born of despair in the cold, bleak darkness of Gotorget and had persisted quietly, unnoticed but ever present, all throughout everything that had happened to him since, waiting for him to be ready.

And now that he was ready, he had made a shambles of it. Caz buried his face in his hands with a groan and then stood, leaving the correspondence where it lay. It was late; very late, considering he need be awake for the Father's Day ceremonies at dawn. And yet he found himself leaving his office and walking the halls, not to Betriz and their bed, but first to the cellar and then to the south wing of the castle, where Palli kept his quarters.

He paused outside his friend's door. He and Palli had been so many things to each other over the years; was this asking too much? Of himself, of Palli, of Betriz? He could not help thinking of another such triangle, which had ended in death and despair for all. In Caz's mind, Palli certainly had some of dy Lutez's more legendary virtues, but Cazaril was no Ias and Betriz no Ista. Most importantly, there was no black Roknari curse hanging over all their heads, twisting their actions to nefarious ends. Caz's Lady had seen to that.

He drew breath and knocked.

It occurred to him belatedly that it was indeed very late, and Palli might well be asleep. Caz winced to himself, then heard footsteps approaching from within - no sleepy shuffle, either, but Palli's usual quick tread. He steeled himself, attempting to gather the right words - he should have thought of them _before_ coming up here -

The door swung open. Palli startled, jaw dropping slightly. Then his gaze hardened and Caz flung his hand out, just in case he decided to shut the door in Caz's face. Which only went to show how badly he'd bungled things the night before.

"Betriz knows," he said, meeting Palli's eyes steadily. "She knows and she gives her blessing. We are still very much in love, but she - she seems to think I love you as well, and I've come to realize she might be, er, right."

Palli stared. "You've gone mad again."

"I was never mad the first time, thank you," Caz replied dryly, "only a bit . . . burdened."

Palli seemed to digest this. "She might be right?" he echoed at last.

Caz nodded, licking his lips though it was cold enough in the corridor that they might freeze together if he was not careful. "May I come in?" he asked, not bothering to disguise his hope. "I have wine," he produced the bottle he'd fetched from the cellar from within the voluminous folds of his chancellor's robe, "though I must admit, I could not find anything as terrible as what we drank that night. No rats, either," he added, "though I'm sure a page would be happy to -"

"Cazaril," Palli said, and Caz managed to control the flow of words enough to see how his friend looked at him, as though - _oh_. As though he thought Cazaril might vanish at any moment. Hardly surprising, considering how Cazaril had abandoned him that night. If there was anything he could go back and fix, Caz thought, that would be it. Everything else had turned out well in the end, thanks be to the Lady of Spring, but that - that had been Cazaril's own folly.

He had an idea how he might fix it. He pushed his way past Palli, who, if he did not stand aside, was at least unresisting, and set the wine on a small table. He closed the door, took Palli's face in his hands, and kissed him. Palli froze, briefly, his lips cold and unrelenting beneath Cazaril's, but then he gasped and they parted.

It was not the same as that night in Gortoget, Cazaril thought, once he had surfaced from the kiss and could think again - far from it. There was no desperation, no despair - a little fear, perhaps, yes. He gripped Palli's tunic and thought of Betriz and how unafraid she had been - how courageous she was in all things. His courage had gotten him this far, but now that they stood here in the dark, embracing each other, it began to wane, and he found himself drawing on hers.

Still, Palli recovered first and kissed him. Caz didn't mind.

_Fin._


End file.
